Double Take
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: Napoleon and Illya find out soething about Mr. Waverly that neither of them suspected. Slash alluded to but nothing else. PG-13 for language only


"Do you have the faintest idea where we are?" Illya glanced around, hopeful for a clue as to their whereabouts.

"I can't believe we could get lost in our own city." Napoleon sighed, long and hard. "How long have you lived here?"

"Not as long as you." Illya squinted at the street sign. "I've never even heard of McCovey Drive. I think we are going to need to bite the bullet, as it were, and ask for directions."

"This goes against everything I hold dearly as a man, you realize," Napoleon muttered as they started to walk towards the neon sign announcing the name of a popular beer.

"You Americans are oddly wired in that sense."

"And Soviets aren't?"

"It's not like we're given a chance to go anywhere," Illya said, smiling. He pulled open the door to the bar and they walked inside. It wasn't until they'd taken a few steps in that Napoleon first registered that something was a bit off.

There seemed to be a great number of men and very few women, strange for a bar, but not impossible, especially if it wasn't in a good area. He had no way of knowing that, though. The next thing that struck him was that a jazz combo was playing something slow and sweet and the people dancing were all same sex couples.

"Illya, there's something wrong here." He caught Illya's elbow and the blond glanced down at his hand and then back up into his face.

"What?" The UNCLE agent was an immediate picture of caution.

"Look around. Do you see anything strange?"

"A group of men drinking and enjoying each other's company, no, nothing looks out of place to me."

"They're dancing with each other."

"Men in the Soviet Union often dance together. What's wrong with that?"

"This isn't the Soviet Union, Illya. This isn't…the way we do things here." Napoleon looked around fugitively, growing more uncomfortable with each passing minute.

"Why?"

"How long have you lived here?" Napoleon repeated his earlier question with a scowl. "Illya… this is a…" He broke off, staring. Illya looked back at him, concerned and then followed the direction of his look.

"Mr. Waverly!" Illya said happily. "He'll know how to get back to headquarters." Illya took a step towards their employer, only to have Napoleon grab him and force him backward into a mass of shadows.

"What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?" Napoleon pressed him further back into the shadows, almost shielding his partner with his body.

"I don't think so, why?"

"Illya, this is a gay bar… you know one where men…"

"Yes, Napoleon, believe it or not, we have homosexuals in the USSR as well and we, too, have bars like this."

"And Mr. Waverly is sitting over there."

"Yes. And I suspect that you have about fifteen seconds of credibility left before you are either going to have to let me go or kiss me."

"What?" Now it was Napoleon's turn to be confused.

"I'm joking, Napoleon, but you can let me go."

Chagrined, Napoleon dropped his hands. "Sorry, I just didn't want…"

"Me to see Mr. Waverly or rather you didn't want Mr. Waverly to see us here together? We have a perfectly reasonable excuse for being here, as, I'm sure does Mr. Waverly." Illya smiled and patted his partner affectionately on the shoulder. He went to take a step around his partner and the smile faded. "Or possibly not." Napoleon went to turn and this time it was Illya's turn to stop him. "I think… not, in your case."

"You're joking, Illya. Tell me you are joking… please?"

"I'd be lying."

"Waverly's bent?"

"Either that or he's very happy to see Mr. Allison. Oh… oh my…"

"NO!" Napoleon sat up straight in bed and then winced. His head was pounding like the village smithy had taking up residence inside it. He massaged his temples and heard a grumble from the foot of the bed. In the dim light of the bedroom he made out his partner's form, still partially dressed, sprawled across the foot of the bed.

"Anyone get the number of the truck that hit me?" Illya murmured, his arm over his eyes to block any light. "I haven't felt this bad since I got an armful of THRUSH's finest truth serum."

"You're hung over? I didn't think that was possible."

"I didn't think so either, but apparently it is."

Napoleon flopped back in the bed and tried to remember exactly what they had done the night before. He remembered walking and a bar, but not much more than that. "Christ, my head hurts." He rolled over and peered in the general direction of the alarm. Ten a.m.? That was impossible. It was barely six when they left headquarters last night. "What did we do last night, Illya?"

"Besides the obvious?" Illya started to crawl his way up the bed towards the pillows. "I haven't a clue." He buried his head into the pillows and groaned. "But I sure as hell hope that I had a good time doing it. Wait a bit… wasn't there a bar?"

"I think so…maybe… move over."

Mr. Waverly lit his pipe and took a long pull on it, letting the smoke billow up in satisfying puffs. He's been as surprised as his agents to see them there. He was equally surprised that two sleep bullets took them down so quietly and effectively.

The phone rang and he caught it before the second ring.

"Waverly."

"Alex."

He smiled at the voice. "Yes, Walter, how are you this morning?"

"Well, thank you; more importantly, how are your two young men?"

"Suffering a bit from the after effects of the drug, but otherwise they seem fine. Confused, but fine."

"Well, a little confusion is good for the soul. I do think we should perhaps change our meeting place though."

"Agreed. If I know these two as well as I do, they will be like a dog with a bone, a rather large and meaty bone, that they will not let go of."

"The bar on Swenson?"

"That will be fine. Until tonight then."

The receiver went dead and Waverly returned his attention to the speaker, but it too had fallen silent except for some snoring and sleep-thick mumblings. Honestly, these young men just didn't know how to handle themselves these days… And he happily puffed away and began to arrange his schedule accordingly. Some days were just destined to be better than others....


End file.
